mont's arm, as she imagined
herself standing before a police magistrate, and trying to tell him the
story.

"I understand your feelings perfectly," whispered Lamont, pressing her
arm reassuringly. "The story of our losses must not get out. No, we
_dare not_ ask the police to help us recover your diamonds and my money,
because of the consequences."

Wretched Sally was obliged to agree with this line of thinking.

Neither spoke much on that homeward ride. Sally was wondering if she
would be able to evade suspicion, and gain her rooms unrecognized; and
Lamont was wondering if the beautiful married flirt realized how
completely she was in his power.

He had concocted a brilliant scheme, and he meant to put it into
execution with as little delay as possible.

Jay Gardiner was lavish in giving money to his young wife, and
he--Lamont--meant to have some of that cash--ay, the most of it. He had
thought of a clever scheme to obtain it.

The driver was as good as his word this time. He landed them as near to
the hotel as possible, and that, too, when the early dawn was just
breaking through the eastern horizon.

With cloak pulled closely about her, and veil drawn close over her face,
Sally accompanied the driver of the coach to the servants' entrance.

It was not without some shame and confusion that she heard the ignorant
coachman pass her off as his sweetheart, and ask his brother, the
night-watchman, to admit her on the sly, as she was one of the girls
employed in the house.

She fairly flew past them and up the broad stairway, and never paused
until she reached her own room, threw, open the door, and sprung into
it, quaking with terror.

Antoinette, her French maid, lay dozing en a velvet couch. She hoped
that she would be able to slip past her without awakening her; but this
was destined not to be.

Antoinette heard the door creak, and she was on her feet like a flash.

"Oh, my lady, it is you!" she whispered, marveling much where her
mistress got such a queer bonnet and cloak. "Let me help you take off
your wrap. You look pale as death. Are you ill?"

"No, no, Antoinette," replied Mrs. Gardiner, flushing hotly, annoyed
with herself, the inquisitive maid, and the world in general. But she
felt that she must make some kind of an excuse, say something. "Yes, I'm
tired out," she replied, quickly. "I was called away to see a sick
friend, and had to go just as I was, as there was not a moment to lose."

"You wer